The Yrch Princess
by Kolinshar Benito
Summary: [LotR SM] She is the last Orc Princess. The last thing ingrained in her memory was the slaughter of her people. But when she comes across the dead body of her father, enough is enough. She will avenge her tribe. Prince Legolas, prepare to die.
1. Prologue: Only Hours Ago

The Yrch Princess  
  
Prologue: Only hours ago..  
  
By: Kolinshar Jackie-chan Benito  
  
October 2002  
  
  
  
  
  
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A Lord of the Rings/Sailor Moon Crossover  
  
  
  
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*sweatdrops* Lol, I have a tendency to keep writing new stories! FORGIVE ME!! Lol, anyway, while I was watching the Lord of the Rings (for the friggin 200th time in a row), I got this idea when the Uruk-Hai dudes appeared and they were in a big group. Saruman had just commanded him to get the halflings.. unspoiled.. V_V(). LOL! Remember??!!! Well, anyway, enjoy!  
  
Ciao!  
  
~KB Jackie-chan  
  
  
  
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Disclaimer: ALL STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY  
  
  
  
  
  
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Only hours ago, screams of rage, terror, and yells of war cries were heard from the area of which she stood on.  
  
Only hours ago, she had been given her rightful place in her tribe. They had known what could be the outcome of the battle they were fighting. She was now a princess. Although there were many trivial outbursts by a few people, she had been crowned the High Princess by her kin. She was not related by blood. She was not related by species either. But she was crowned the princess.  
  
And she was here to avenge her people.  
  
Gripping the handle of her broad rapier, the blade's tip pointed downward, she sliced through another of her kindred's enemy. The blade was covered and dripping with blood. The crimson liquid had been chilled by the cool air, and the stilled area was only awakened by the slight sounds of her rapier singing.  
  
She had been chosen as Princess, yet, as it seemed, it was custom for the Princess to witness the battle her people were to fight it if it was her first. Her second, she was to take charge and lead them into battle. But it didn't seem like that was going to happen any time soon. Probably almost all of her tribe was wiped out.  
  
On the outside, it seemed only as if she was unaffected by the goings coming around her.  
  
On the inside, she was screaming. Screaming for her losses, screaming in pain, and even some screaming for the stupidity of her tribe.  
  
If it wasn't for stupid traditions and customs, she would have been able to fight and die honorably with her people (AN: Woah! Sounding a bit too much like Wufei..) But no. Since it was her tribe's first battle since her crowning ceremony, she had to watch them throw their lives away.  
  
Hardened, emotionless crystalline blue eyes scanned the now quiet battlefield. A few fires still burned, but with the little fuel it had to carry on, the few that remained, died out. Bodies literally were scattered in the area, limp and bleeding, some bodies still carrying the swords and knives which had ended their life. Some of the area was scorched with charcoal black rings from the small explosions that had taken place only hours before. Man, elf, and orc lay dead, and the lone woman standing in the middle was the only creature alive in a three-mile radius. Everything, not even a single blade of grass stood standing alive on the stench filled area. The only remains of the burning fire were not the blacked-up paths they had left, and the small wisps of smoke were quickly blown away by the wind.  
  
The stench of the disgusting smell of rotting bodies alone would have made the strongest stomach throw its cookies out again. The entire field of beaten and battered bodies would have made the most emotionless and expressionless person even turn away in horror. It was truly an ugly view.  
  
The battle had raged on through the night, and the enemy had started to gain the upperhand. Although her kindred were now resisted to the sunlight and could walk in day, her adopted mother and father had been the simple breed of orcs.  
  
Yes, orcs. She was the adopted daughter of Kusaya and Aswag, of the Hurdir, the leaders of their tribe. They had taken her in when her birth mother had left her to die in a nearby forest.  
  
The woman's hand clenched into a fist at the memory. Kusaya and Aswag had been the one's to find her. They had been the ones to take her in. They were her REAL parents. They had taught her the only thing she knew. How to survive. Many of the orcs in her tribe were cannibals.  
  
And now.. only hours before, she had watched their slaughter. Stumbling along blindly, she located her father's body among the dozens that lay dead. Falling to her knees, she stared at his limp body. Turning him over into a lying position, the dead weight she carried seemed more than a tonne. She would dig him a grave.  
  
His armor was still in decent shape. Stripping him of his protective shelling, she took his knife as well. He said he had taken it from an Elf, and it was infused with magic. It was a rather pretty thing as well. The blade was decorated in gold leaves as a filigree, the handle a deep ebony mineral.  
  
Her eyes narrowed as she spotted an Elven made arrow, stuck rather awkwardly out of her father's body. Lifting it to her nose, she took a recognized a strong smell coming from the projectile. She wafted the smell toward her. Living with orcs had told her how to track down creatures with their scents. And for a human, she had an extraordinary sense of smell. Actually, all of her senses were top level. She had the eyes of an eagle, and the ears of a fox. And her sense of smell never lied.  
  
She knew the scent from.. somewhere. It was an Elf, and she just couldn't place it anywhere. Sighing, she covered the dead body with the soil. The arrow she had pulled from her father's dead body lying beside her. She took another sniff, trying to remember who had had the scent. It seemed like the forest smelled like in Autumn, with a touch of cinnamon. To most, it smelled warm and inviting. To her it smelled like the most foulest thing she had ever seen.  
  
Suddenly, it hit her. She knew that scent. It was an Elven prince. He was a prince of the forest of Mirkwood. A nasty smirk played on her features. She remembered him now. Long blonde hair, and misty grey eyes. And a rather 'killer' shot.  
  
She snorted. Mirkwood. That was the same forest where she had been left to die. A determined look appeared in her eyes as she remembered the prince's name. Legolas. It wasn't going to be easy, but she would avenge her people. And killing the prince would greatly take a lot of the debt away.  
  
She strapped her father's Elven dagger and stood up. The sky over head had begun she shift to pastel colors, and the heat and light of the Sun would soon be hitting the land of which she stood.  
  
With one last thought, she broke into a run.  
  
Well, Prince Legolas, prepare to meet your doom.  
  
  
  
  
  
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AHHH!!! I'm such an evil woman!! I MADE USAGI AN ORC PRINCESS! *runs around screaming* *stops, looks around at the readers giving her the 'Odd Look.'* (eg. O.O!!!) *gives a lip-sided grin* Hey! What can I say? I thought it was an okay idea at the time.  
  
Well, anyway, gotta run. Send any questions or comments to the review box. Constructive criticism is accepted too. I really like reading what I should add to make my storied better. *glares* Flames were used on the WTC. Stick with Constructive Criticism. My email inbox is currently on overload and it can't receive anymore emails. V_V(), I really need to check my emails more often! If your waiting for a response from me, I'm sorry for the wait!  
  
Ciao!  
  
~KB Jackie-chan 


	2. Chapter One: The Stranger Called Raine

_Insert stolen disclaimer here. _XD

**THE YRCH PRINCESS**

**Chapter One: The Stranger Called Raine**

By: Kolinshar Benito

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The party of woodland elves quietly entered the forest of Mirkwood, archers at stilled alert as they waded cautiously through the wood. Five days had past since their battle at the swamplands of Mordor, dread filling them as they battled on the plains where a great triumph had happened, but at the cost of so many lives. It was quite disconcerting to know that the resting place of thousands of dead souls had been disturbed by battle once more. Man and Elf, united to fight against their mutual enemy Sauron, died in the movement known as the Last Alliance.

Dead carcasses still littered across the landscape, centuries doing nothing to erase the existence of their kindred. Their was some content among their hearts, as they had once again ended another small rebellion against the peace that they had tried at so many years to capture, and finally, with the final defeat of Sauron and destruction of the One Ring, had maintained.

A contingency attack against the party of elves passing through the plains had surprised them all, as the orcs and Uruk-hai rarely left the security of their caverns deep within the Misty Mountains. It was a party of thirty-five, against seven master elves, all of them veterans from wars. The orcs didn't stand a chance against their superiority, but elven party would be lying if they said it hadn't been taxing on their part. And to their horror, their prince, youngest son of Thranduil, had fallen ill against the lethal orc poison.

They had left the youngest of their group to fight against the leader of the tribe of yrch, an Uruk-hai that had surprising skill along with brute strength. Being the youngest didn't necessarily mean the most inexperienced, as he had saved all of their backs at one point or the other. Prince Legolas had also partaken in the Fellowship of the Ring to destroy the one ring of Sauron. He had more than enough experience to defeat a simple minded Uruk-hai. That's what they all thought.

Guess they should have thought otherwise.

Prince Legolas had been left on the defensive side, barely getting enough blows in to even graze the orc. Ultimately, he seemed to get desperate enough to counter the Uruk-hai's sharp and painful blows with probably the most powerful right hook he had ever given. It worked, surprisingly enough, and left the orc dazed for a couple moments that Legolas used to his advantage to sever one of the Uruk-hai's arms.

In a fit of rage and pain, the orc sent a wild swing of his weapon with his remaining arm, slicing through Legolas' torso and sending the princeling hurtling through the air a few meters away when he failed to dodge in time. The Uruk-hai saw red as it charged blindly at the elf, before it met its demise at a half a dozen arrows shot from Legolas. Falling on his side, the elf blacked out from the pain and the poison now circulating through his system.

Battle weary and fatigued from their battle, the members of the Mirkwood party had battled two more smaller groups on their way home, bringing up their severely injured members to two. The others were adorned with new battle scars, but Legolas and Ronan of Mirkwood were the ones at going to be facing death. They had done all they could for them, but only a very skilled healer could possibly be able to heal them now. They increased their pace considerably to hurry to the Kingdom of the Woodland elves, Mirkwood.

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Meriallian, the only other warrior within their party that had enough medical training for the situation, had a worried look on her face as she checked up on the wounded when they stopped to rest. Laying her head upon an abnormally pale elf's chest, she counted his heartbeats, a grim look on her face. She lifted her head and felt his pulse.

"Garran, they don't have much time left. We must reach Mirkwood by tonight or by morning," Meriallian told the man peering over her shoulder in concern. "If we don't, they will surely die."

Garran's face remained impassive as he turned away from her, but Meriallian knew better. Legolas and Ronan were his two closest friends, and they were the only thing he could consider as family anymore. They had been childhood companions, learning at the academy together, and ever since both Garran's parents had sailed to the Grey Havens, he considered those two as brothers.

Unfortunately, his surrogate brothers were on the verge of death as well. Elves were immortal beings, but only two things could possibly cause one of the Valor's chosen to pass to their halls. Elves could only die by way of being killed in battle, or grief.

And if both Legolas and Ronan passed away, the third member of a trio affectionately labelled the Mongrels of Mordor (by the constraining chamberlain of Legolas) would most likely die by his own grief.

Garran faced the female warrior with a hardened look in his eye. "We will reach Mirkwood tonight."

Meriallian nodded in agreement. "I can only hope that we aren't too late. This poison is amazingly powerful. Internal bleeding has already begun." She shook her head in dismay. "I can only hope that our own healers can cure them. If not, the only people powerful enough to bring them back to the light would be Lord Elrond of Rivendel or King Aragorn."

"Meri," Garran called to her softly, head downcast. "They can't die. I don't know what I would do without those two around."

Ronan, the most bubbly member of the party, moaned uncharacteristically in his poison induced sleep. Meriallian attended to him immediately, wiping the foul smelling sweat away from a cloth. He shifted, slightly opening up a gash in his side, and a pained look appeared on his unconscious face.

"I know--," she said affectionately, but paused when something caught her attention.

Meriallian looked up at her companion suddenly, an alert look in her eyes. Her sensitive ears caught the noise of shifting leaves in the trees surrounding them. The other elves on watch duty gazed at the forest that surrounded their kingdom with weary eyes. They glanced at her and Garran, giving her a look as if to ask if she had noticed that subtle movement within the dense green around them.

Meri nodded her head once to answer their silent question, then slowly reached for a pair of scimitars at her waist. Garran quietly reached down for his sword. The others reached for their various weapons and Meri listened quietly.

Another movement.

One of the others released his notched arrow into the dark and a high pitched inhuman wail pierced the air as three large figures launched themselves from the darkness and security of the trees, all of their beady little eyes greedily looking at the elves with hunger. Their bodies easily matched the size of a horse, and were at least three wide. Black hair covered their torsos and all of their eight legs, ready to pounce on the elves without a moments notice. The elves readied their weapons, adrenaline rushing through their bodies again as they charged at the animals.

The monsters hissed at their attacks and moved out of the way, readying themselves for another of their attacks, pinchers snapping at them in annoyance.

The spiders of Mirkwood lunged at them without a moment to waste.

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The last remaining survivor of the orc tribe Hurdir stopped to rest for the night, tired, but pleased by the amount of ground she had covered. She camped on the border of Mirkwood Forest, slightly apprehensive of staying the night within the woods known for the dark beasts that lived within the trees. The spiders of Mirkwood were known throughout the land of Middle Earth because of their horrible nature. When they caught their prey, they were wrapped in a cocoon of silk, alive, as the spiders fed off of their blood. It was a slow and painful way to die, as they would be kept alive by the spiders until they perished at their hands... er, legs, and was eaten alive when the spiders mood changed.

The Princess laughed at her thoughts, smiling sadistically as she rather liked the way the spiders handled their meals. She, of course, would rather not like to be on the menu of this species, but she couldn't help but appreciate their carnivorous nature.

She yawned, the breath escaping her before she could help it. Taking off her pack, she rolled out a spread made of warg hide and wrapped it around her body. Laying her head on the ground, she closed her eyes to catch a few hours of sleep.

_Kathump. Badump. _

Groaning in dismay, her ears picking up the sounds of beating hooves through the ground, the erratic pounding telling her that there was more than one horseman coming in her direction. She decided to stay quiet, hoping that the horsemen would just pass her by without notice. She was rather well hidden in the brush, but pulled the hood of her cloak tightly around her head. Her hand reached down to the leg sheath she had strapped on, and fingered her father's elvish dagger, just in case she was forced to resort to it.

If she had a choice, she would rather not fight, for she was rather tired from her journey. She hadn't stopped to sleep in the period of three days, and she just wanted some rest. She most definitely could fight them though, but she reminded herself that she was trying to be discreet in her tracking. Being on the border of Mirkwood, the announcement that a party of horsemen were attacked would raise the alarm of the elves within the city.

She folded her blanket and quietly replaced it within her pack, and sat alert in the shrubbery. The sound of horses was now audible, and peeking through the leafy foliage, she saw the outline of the horsemen party. The sky was streaked with orange and red, and it showered a rosy glow onto them. She counted fifteen... no, twenty horses, all carrying riders. All of them warriors as well, judging from the way they seemed to ride and their armoury. Two of the horses carried flagmen, the symbol of Gondor and Rohan flying on the wind proudly. She felt that there was just something incredibly wrong to see the flags of the white tree and horse in the air again.

She cursed in the language of Mordor and Westron, damning her bad fortune. She couldn't face them all in a fight. Even as an elite fighter, one Orc princess against twenty swordsmen hardly seemed in her favour. Then an idea struck her mind.

Why was she thinking of fighting at all? They seemed to be approaching the city of Mirkwood... and she had more in her arsenal than her fighting skills. As disgusted with herself as it was, there was no fact denying that she was of the race of men, and not orc. Added to that, she was female. Hmm... this could be used to her advantage.

Grabbing her pack, she left her hiding spot before the riders could get a good glimpse of her, and began walking at the very edge of the tree line. Her hood carefully hid all of her features from any strangers, effectively covering her striking blue eyes from any wandering gazes. As a child, she always had a fascination with her golden tresses, so different from the black hair of their tribe. As a result, she kept her blonde strands hidden by putting it into a tight bun, then covering it with black cloth. Wearing a grey bandana over top, she successfully hid her conspicuous hair color. She never really cared for it though, and as a result, knots and tangles ran supreme.

Checking to make sure that the rapier at her side was out of sight, she hefted her rucksack onto her shoulders and sneaked a glance behind her.

The scouts at the very front of the party finally caught site of her, and turned their horses around to tell the King.

"Milords, we've caught sight of a man walking at the edge of Mirkwood Forest," the scout reported to five figures on horseback, looking as majestic as a person could get after journeying for a week and a half.

"Oh? Are you sure it isn't one of the woodland elves?" a handsome brunette questioned. His russet colored hair was streaked with grey, but his grey eyes showed sudden stiffness as he assessed the situation. Faramir, steward of Gondor, rode beside two eye catching figures. To his left was the King of Gondor, the crown on his head slightly askew. On his other side sat a dwarf, his flaming red beard and hair frizzing out of various braids. Gimli sat perched and attentive, the ground looking quite far a drop from his position.

"Well, sir, we can't be certain. He's currently well hidden under a cloak. The only thing we observed on his was a pack, but we can't be sure if he is armed. He could just be a travelling merchant," the scout alleged, telling them what he observed.

Gimli scoffed. A murderous gleam filled his eyes. "A travelling merchant, you say? King Thranduil has hardly had productive commerce within his kingdom ever since he stole the dwarves treasure from the dragon, the greedy tyrant. That bastard--"

"Gimli!" Aragorn barked at the dwarf. "Can we not let bygones be bygones? Is that any way to speak of our good friend Legolas' father? And, might I add, the ruler of the kingdom that we're visiting?"

Gimli gave Aragorn a glare, startling the scout. Most treated the King with the utmost regard, as commanded a great number of accomplishment under his belt. This behaviour was something that the scout had not seen before. "Aragorn, the moment I forgive Thranduil for stealing our treasure is the day that I throw down my linage and proclaim myself that pretty elf boy's brother! But that even makes my stomach wretch as any spawn of Thranduil I pity, for I cannot imagine him being a good fath--."

"Gimli! That is quite enough! You may keep your prejudices to yourself. Try and make this occasion a happy one, as we have not seen Legolas in more than a decade," the ranger reprimanded, and the dwarf didn't even try to hide his scowl.

The scout coughed, attracting their attention once again. "Uh, milord, what shall we do about the stranger?"

The King turned his stare away from the elf as he faced the scout. "We shall proceed with caution. The person is either well armed or very stupid to be wandering around the borders of Mirkwood Forest. Many dark creatures have taken residence within these woods. Tell the others to be on alert, as this could be an ambush as well. He may be wanting to attract attention to himself." Aragorn leaned back. "But of course, if could really only be a passing stranger."

The scout nodded, and turned his horse again relaying the message to the others.

But a loud horn blowing chilled everyone, before they all frantically grabbed their weapons. The horn meant enemies approaching and the party looked on in surprise and horror as warg riders made their way toward to entourage with amazing speed.

The Princess halted at the sound of the blasting horn. She turned around to see the horse party she had been conning to suddenly be attacked by wargs. There were maybe five or six after them. The horsemen could probably handle it themselves, but she wasn't going to fight willingly.

Cursing wildly once again, she pulled her hood back slightly enough so she could run without it blocking her view. She grabbed the rapier at her side, taking off at a run. She wasn't stupid enough to throw herself into a fray with wargs in the pictures. She fingered the jagged scar tissue on her arms, evidence of claws attacking her wildly.

When she was merely a child, a tempered warg had escaped from the dugouts that they kept the beasts in. The animal hadn't eaten in days. Nobody in their tribe had. And when it escaped, all it had seen was her and thought her only as a meal. The beast had jumped on her, scratching at the child and going wild at the scent of her blood. Raising her arms in defence, she was only saved when one of the orcs let an arrow go, ending the warg's miserable life. Needless to say, there had been a feeding frenzy that evening. She sneered. That miserable animal's warm hide was now her blanket.

But her chances of escape flew out of the window as a warg rider caught sight of her fleeing, and chased after her with deadly intent. Cursing the Valor, she threw off her pack and cloak as it would be a hindrance to her, and grabbed a throwing dagger strapped to her forearm.

It flung toward the unsuspecting rider with enough force to throw him off his beast as it his him squarely between the eyes. She ran away some more, gaining some distance between her and the salivating animal. Throwing the remaining two knives that she had strapped to her arms, they both struck the warg, but it did little more than enrage it and it came after her with red clouding its vision.

Unsheathing her rapier, she readied herself as the warg leapt at her. As the beast got air, the rolled under it and sliced at its belly, and it gave an roar when it tumbled to the ground in pain. As it finally struggled to its feet, it whirled around and swiped at the Princess. She snarled in return as its infectious claws clipped her shoulder, ripping deep gashes.

She gasped in pain, gritting her teeth together as she dropped her rapier and clutched her wound. Blood seeped through her fingers, but arrows whizzed by her suddenly, striking its head and putting it out of its misery. It was ironic to think that she was back at the very place where she should have died all those years ago. As a baby, she was placed at the edge of Mirkwood Forest to die. Seems as if it might finally come true.

The noise behind her made her turn around. Two swordsmen approached her, slightly apprehensive, but wanting to give her some aid nonetheless. Another on horseback rode toward her, the bow in his hands showing that the was the archer to whom she now owed a debt to.

"Sir! Are you all right?" one of the swordsmen asked as he knelt beside her. He reached out to examine her wound, but she shrugged him away.

"Keep away, soldier," she hissed as the wound flared with pain.

"Sir, I'm a trained healer. Please, let me help you," the man persisted.

She gave him a heated glower. "I'm fine! Don't touch me!"

'_Sir? They think I'm a man?' _she thought, laughing inwardly. _'I suppose that they've obviously never seen a woman fight.'_ She sighed inwardly. She supposed she could probably make for a very pretty man with her hair hidden away.

"Listen, that wound could be infected if not looked at soon, and I'm not sure if you'd want to find yourself short of one arm at this point in time. It could very well be poisoned too," the man stated pointedly.

She gave him a hard stare, but considered her options and the situation. She could either sit here, injured with a most likely poisoned shoulder, or let herself get looked at. She wasn't a genius in the medical field though, and to try and tend to this would herself would probably result in more pain than she wanted. Finally, she relented.

"Fine. But you better tell me what your doing, while your doing it. I don't want you to be salving me with some unknown substance." she warned.

The man nodded and he approached her. The two soldiers behind him suddenly looked uncertain. "Mi-milord..."

"I'll be fine, Turner. Please call Lord Faramir over with one of the healers," he commanded as he gazed at the bloody cut.

The soldier nodded and left to find Faramir. The archer leapt down from his horse, and watched the man tending to her. The archer gave her a suspicious glare.

The Princess let out a startled gasp in pain as he prodded her shoulder tenderly. It ripped a whole new feeling of pain to her senses.

She snarled at her in pain. Throwing his hand off her, she shifted away.

He gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I should have told you what I was doing. I was just trying to see the gash -- to see if it was infected."

"Well, thanks for trying," she bit out sarcastically, her shoulder throbbing, "but don't try anymore."

"Listen, that wound is infected! You _need _to get it looked at!" he informed her, his eyes narrowed at her distrust.

"I don't _need_ to do anything! For all I care, it can eat me alive." she spat at him, visibly clenching her jaw from the pain. "Just LEAVE. ME. ALONE!"

"Why are you being so difficult?! I'm trying to help you!"

"Great load of help your giving me," she retorted, scrambling to her feet. She glanced down at the rapier a few meters away from her. No, fighting wouldn't help her in this situation. She would be dead in an instant if she tried anything.

She stumbled to her blade, grabbing the bloody item's hilt and wiping the blood onto the grass. She sheathed it, and she realized that the moment she grabbed her weapon from the ground, the archer standing close by had notched an arrow.

"Please. Let me help you," he repeated to her, raising his arms in a show of being peaceful.

She stared at him. Why was he being so annoyingly persistent? Couldn't he just get the message and leave her in peace? Finally, she looked at him. Really looked at him. She always had the uncanny perception of looking at a person in the eye and seeing their nature. What she saw was... kindness? She stepped back, suddenly confused. She was raised to see all other races as power hungry and foolish. They were greedy in nature, especially with men. What was this feeling of contradiction doing to her? She shook her head, freeing herself of such thoughts.

'_No, this is probably all just a hoax,' _she thought, giving him a once over. _'No one would just help a random stranger. He's probably trying to see something in me. Trying to see... what I'm doing here. And what I want to do here.'_

But she couldn't shake the sight of that rare virtue in his eyes. She had grown up, her nature slowly forcing her to change and follow nature's path of "survival of the fittest." She had seen kindness once, but that had been erased from existence with the passing death of the thing she called 'mother.'

Tentatively, she asked, "What's your name?"

He smiled at her, "Strider."

'_Yeah, your name will really be Strider when I'm really an orc.' _she thought, her suspicious nature giving him a penetrating glare.

"And yours?" he asked.

She hesitated. _'Should I tell him my real name? Usagi is a name only native to Mordor. He'll be suspicious.' _She turned away from him, glancing into the distance. South of Mirkwood lay Mordor, a deserted wasteland ever since the War of the One Ring ended. Wait, she took that back. It was nothing but a deserted wasteland since for as long as she could remember. Storm clouds still hovered over the land, but refused to open up the heavens on a place where evil reigned supreme at one point in time. The land lusted for its life giving substance, but it was vehemently denied.

She gave him a wry smile and said, "Raine. My name is Raine."

"Well, Sir Raine, let us tend to that wound," Strider said as Faramir arrived with the healer.

End Chapter.

* * *

Yrch: Orcs in elvish

Wow, been a long time since I've written anything related at all to fan fiction. Been reading plenty though. Hmm, its been a long time since I've seen the updated works of any of my favourite SM crossover authors, and I guess I fell into that ritual once again. Hopefully I'll be updating more as the months go by. This is a very miniscule chapter by my standards, but I suppose its just as well considering I'm only getting back into writing again.

For the reviewers that were concerned for my welfare, thank you.

For this story, it is post-LotR and AU for SM. Many of the reviewers were questioning the point in history.

Reviews would be great. I was considering taking this story off for a while, but it would be great to hear all your input.

Much mahal,

Kolinshar Benito


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